


To Pieces

by missmuffet



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Everybody Dies, Gen, Mutant Hate, Non-Graphic Violence, sentinels hunting down mutants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmuffet/pseuds/missmuffet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I promise to come back."</p>
<p>If there had ever been a bigger lie in the entire existence of everything in the world, Franklin could only think of one other thing. It was something he had whispered to him since he was a toddling child, unknowingly stepping into the world, ready to ruin the lives of his family.</p>
<p>"Please don't go...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Pieces

**I.**

  
"I promise to come back."  
  
If there had ever been a bigger lie in the entire existence of everything in the world, Franklin could only think of one other thing. It was something he had whispered to him since he was a toddling child, the fresh face of disgust as a part of Public Enemy number one, clinging to Mr. Parker's neck as he sobbed because something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. In one moment, Daddy's computer in his big, shining and clean smelling laboratory had been linked to the spacecraft's computers, hosting a video chat between him and his Uncle Johnny telling him to sleep well tonight. In the next... Auntie Jennifer crashing into the wall from off camera. A screeching sound of metal getting ripped, Uncle Johnny forgetting to properly close the chat – static and nothing.  
  
"It's going to be okay," Mr. Parker whispered against Franklin's curly mop of hair. His face was transfixed on the computer screen in horror, had been since Franklin's wail roused him from where he had fallen asleep on the couch. With awkward, unsure and hesitant hands, as if the man might crush him, Mr. Parker moved from being crouched beside Franklin and stood, scooping the boy up in his arms. Mr. Parker repeated the other biggest lie Franklin has ever heard over and over again.  
  
 **II.**  
  
Before they left, Mommy promised him that if he held up all his little fingers and put one down for each day they were gone, they would return on the same day his last finger went down. Ten days, each too long, have come and gone since they first left. Between sniffles and still frequently seen sobs, he asked to borrow Mr. Parker’s hand and fingers and begged the man to count the days. Ten of Franklin's fingers plus three of Mr. Parker’s.  He began to understand why there was never a floor number thirteen to be found in Manhattan's iron buildings.  
  
 **III.**  
  
Franklin does not understand why Mr. Parker paces the length of the living room as the blue eyed boy sadly picked at his Cherrios – plain with slices of strawberries and banana because Mommy told Mr. Parker her son needed to eat more than just grains. Setting his spoon down, he watched Mr. Parker move for the phone. A number was dialed in a hurry. "Are you calling God?" he asked quietly.  
  
The question seemed to freeze the older man in place. "No," he began to say but Franklin cut him off.  
  
"Mommy says you can talk ta him anytime if you try hard 'nuff." He set the bowl of cereal to the side, unable to eat. "I keep tryin' but... I dun think I'm doin' it righ'."  
  
"I - " A sigh. "I'm calling MJ."  
  
"You can't call the alphabet, silly."  
  
For the first time in days, Mr. Parker broke into a small smile. "Mary Jane, I meant. She - ... She's your aunt. ... Frankie... Frankie I really think you should get used to - to..." The words get caught in his throat and he couldn’t finish. He seemed to choke on the words and air as his back slipped down the wall some. Mr. Parker might be trying, but to the child, he looked ready to cry.  
  
Quick as his little feet could carry him, Franklin ducked into his room and snatched the plush, stuffed toy of Spider-Man off of his bed from where it was tucked in beside an action figure of his Uncle Johnny. For the first time since he met the man, he pressed the toy into his free hand. Mr. Parker's eyes opened slowly - he must have closed them while Franklin ran off. Before he could ask, the child answered. " 'Cause Spi'er-Man is the bestest. He keeps us safe 'n' he's strong and perfect. He makes me feel braver 'n' bigger when I'm not really brave. You seen 'im, 'fore. You take his pictures...."  
  
The truth is far from Franklin's mind.  
  
Mr. Parker tried to smile but failed. Instead, he pinched his eyes tightly closed. His voice cracked as be finally finished his train of thought. "I think you should get used to calling me Uncle Peter."  
  
 **IV.**  
  
The next time he heard the lie that everything will be okay, it was by a man with graying hair and a funny metal suit. He looked like an astronaut from a scary movie and he insisted he was Franklin's grandfather. The child, of course, knew this to be a lie. The only grandfather he knew of was the one who shared his name, from nights when Mommy brushed his curls back and told him stories. "He was...a very intelligent, brave man, one who died to save his family," went the stories and Uncle Johnny would look away each time.  
  
He understood even less when he opened his eyes again to find the remnants of a half burnt town in front of them. Buildings laid in ruin, with no Fantasicar in sight. For the first time in years, worse than when Annihilus broke into their home and tried to kidnap him - kidnapped, was that what had just happened to him? - Franklin was scared. It wasn't until his father's voice broke through the ruins that the fear dwindled.  
  
"Dad?" Daddy's hair was grayer than he last remembered; his strides a little less sure. "Where did you fall out of the continuum? I could have sworn –  " He froze when he caught sight of him. "Frank –? O-oh my word. I thought - we - " Like Mr. Parker some time ago, Daddy couldn't finish his sentence. Arms stretched out, snatching him from the stranger's arms and wrapped around his little body from the bottoms of his sneakers up to where the red overalls touch his shoulders. Daddy couldn’t stop kissing his cheek and forehead. "P-Peter and - they - _they told us they had watched you die."_  
  
 **V.**  
  
It's funny. Home isn't a tall building anymore and his family insisted it never was. Uncle Johnny claimed to have never picked out Franklin's favorite Spider-Man toy and Auntie Alicia curls up with this - this big, orange _thing_ on the couch every night, not Uncle Johnny. For the longest time, the talking pile of rocks scared him. " 'M yer Uncle Ben," it would insist. "Yer named aftah me."  
  
"No I'm not! I'm named after Franklin Storm! He - he was a very brave man. Not a _monster_.”  
  
 **VI.**  
  
It isn't until he was seven-and-a-half that he learnt the true meaning of "monster". Every morning, Grandpa Nathaniel would wake him up with a glass of cold water or an air horn and he wouldn't be allowed to eat until he had run ten laps around the house at least. Halfway through, Uncle Peter came running up, hurrying him inside. "Get your grandpa. We have to leave, right now. No, I'll get him. Pack a bag of warm clothes."  
  
Six hours later, he experienced his first Sentinel raid. As the ground shook, he whimpered and climbed into his mother's lap. "What's happening?"  
  
"They're rounding up more for the camps," Grandpa Nathan answered before he could be shushed.  
  
"Rounding up w -" Mommy clasped a hand over his mouth. In a few days time, he would find out, between her trying not to cry, that the hope had been with so many empowered people with radiated blood all stuffed together - Uncle Peter, Uncle Ben, Mommy, Uncle Johnny and Daddy - with a mix of humans, they would be overlooked.  
  
They weren’t.  
  
Some of them scattered like ants when the roof suddenly takes fire, crumbling hot ashes on them. Daddy is the first rise to the occasion of being a liar, of telling a child the worst thing possible. "I promise to come back," he shouted, loud enough to pass over the argument between Mommy and Uncle Johnny as he pulled his sister back.  
  
"Don't look back, sweetie, everything is going to be okay." Auntie MJ's voice was as sweet as always, even when it trembled. Her hand pulled him away, forcing him to run when he wants to turn around and help. Now he saw why Grandpa Nathan made him run laps every day, but with no breakfast and lots of walking today, his legs were weak. "Don't look back," she repeats suddenly pulling him off to side, ducking behind a car that had flipped over.  
  
Uncle Johnny soared on past over head, Mommy thrashing in his arms. Uncle Peter crashes so hard into the car, his skin clung to it and Franklin couldn't be so sure he wasn't thrown. He made a move as if to lunge forward, away from them and to the Sentinel, but Auntie MJ grabbed for his hand. _"Please,"_ she begged.  
  
Mommy was screaming.  
  
 **VII.**  
  
She told him not to look back.  
  
 **("Do you know what sound a rubber band makes when you stretch it past its breaking point?")**  
  
She told him not to look back.  
  
 **VIII.**  
  
Grandpa Nathan found them soon enough. But long before them, Franklin found himself silently curled between Auntie MJ and Uncle Peter at night. He pretended to sleep on his stomach, face buried into his crossed arms. He is unsure if he sleeps at all at night. Mostly he breathes, mostly he listens to his aunt and uncle and the crickets in the country side. There was no need for him to whimper about nightmares to earn an arm wrapped around him from each of them.  
  
They were already living in a nightmare.  
  
 Slowly but surely, he began to forget about a little isle named Manhattan hosting bright, clean and tall buildings. Most certainly, there was no building in Midtown with a blue, glowing number **four** on its roof. There was no building that was so frequently trashed or broken that Daddy was always selling off his gadgets to people he never wanted to see with their hands around it. Uncle Johnny had never picked out an overpriced Spider-Man toy at Toys-R-Us that was perfect for cuddling with. Auntie Alicia was indeed a blind and talented sculptor, but she loved Uncle Ben - she had never married Uncle Johnny. Auntie Jenny and Uncle Bobby were dead long before he was old enough to remember them.  
  
And though he didn't remember it, Uncle Peter insisted on apologize for letting Franklin disappear from his grasp, left to wander into a condemned building.  
  
 **IX.**  
  
Much to the displeasure of his Aunt and Uncle, his grandfather still insisted on training him. Sit ups, stretching, bridges and puny pull ups on branches or ladders until his arms felt like they would fall off. He sucked at all of it. He knew why he had to do it now, he knew he would have to get big and strong so he could pull Auntie MJ away to safety and carry her on his back like Uncle Peter did when she sprained her ankle. Once, he carried both of them and Grandpa Nathan must have scolded Franklin for an hour straight before his aunt finally snapped back at him.  
  
"He's just a _child_! If it keeps him from crying, let him get one God damn piggyback ride from someone who actually loves him. Give him some peace, just for one day."  
  
 **X.**  
  
Franklin can't pronounce the name of town they finally reach. It was small and unfairly untouched by the madness of the world. A farm stood intact, with horses that Auntie MJ led him away to see. Behind him, Uncle Peter was arranging something, maybe a job. "This one is a Pinto horse," his aunt explained. "The one next to it is a - a Palomino." A bright, golden horse with a white star and white full white socks on its hind legs was pulling hay from a large pile.  
  
"How'd ya know so much? Did you have pony dolls to play with when you were a girl?"  
  
"Something like that. But not really." Used to sleeping on the cold ground, she let her legs give in beneath her, plopping her to the dusty ground. Their clothes were long since ruined, dirty and their pants often ripped. He had been through every piece of clothing in his backpack too many times now. Pity he didn't have any toys packed away.  
  
"Then what'd you do for fun?"  
  
"I read, mostly. Grand stories of places that never existed, of big cities paved in gold and times so many years ago…." She patted her lap and he scrambled over to her, settled over hers legs as he leaned against her. Her arms were small compared to what he thought he remembered Uncle Johnny's were like and her hugs were nothing like Daddy's hugs which doubled as a bed to fall asleep in but this would do.  "I played pretend, all the time, even if it was just by myself. Sometimes I would go over to talk to Pete and his Aunt May."  
  
 _(Aunt May could not run fast enough.)_  
  
"Can you tell me a story? P-please. I think I used to get bed time stories..." Or he might have dreamt it back when he remembered how to. He snuggled in closer against her chest and blinked up. " _Please?_ You didn't kiss my cuts yesterday when I fell out of that apple tree." Truth be told, she was too busy keeping him from wailing and screaming to fuss over cuts. The ground had started to shake, ever so lightly, and she thought in the distance she had caught sight of a large metal head. But that didn't matter now that they were safe.  
  
"I...." Auntie MJ looked from him, back over her shoulder to Uncle Peter who had already been tricked into carrying some large trunk up on one shoulder, as if it was hollow and made of paper.  
  
 _"... Once upon a time there was a very young man who, since he had been a child, dreamt of being a knight. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of his idol, who had been a great hero of their country though he started off as a nobody –  a skinny thing destined to push pencils if he was lucky. But this young man, he was a very good person, just like his idol. He was brave and shier than a doe. But he was great. Everyone else had just yet to see that, so everyone loved to stick out their legs and trip Puny Parker as he passed by...."_  
  
 **XI.**  
  
The farmer allowed them the hay loft in the barn. With the heat of the livestock below, they were all warmer than they had been in a long time. Uncle Peter woke up before dawn, climbed down the ladder and did whatever he was told before working on building a new silo to replace the one that was collapsing. Auntie MJ woke up with the sun, stiff and sore with hay all over her hair. After speaking up, insisting she could own keep, she was put in charge of feeding the animals and giving them water as well as collecting any milk or eggs. They let him sleep until eight or nine before his aunt called down to him with a plate of warm scrambled eggs in her hand.  
  
After eating, Franklin got the best job. With a bucket of plastic and metal brushes, as well as some with goat’s hair bristles, he was put in charge of grooming the horses. It took him just over half an hour before he could move to the next one. They let him pet their necks and soft noses, but if he wasn't careful, they would chew on his shirt.  
  
If he was even less careful, he'd forget which one liked kicking when its hooves were picked clean.  
  
 **XII.**  
  
They worked, Grandpa Nathan complained and snuck him off deep in the corn fields at midday when the sun was high and hot. _"Focus,"_ was a frequent order.  
  
"On what, Gramps?"  
  
"On what you want most of all."  
  
What he wanted was to feel his parents patting at his head and kissing him. Most of all, the home sickness he suffered felt like it would rip him in two at time. Without warning, the world slipped out beneath him. Suddenly his grandfather was gone; the corn stalks were gone, replaced with a dark plane of black and purple. He was falling. _(He was going to die.)_ From the looks of it, it would be stone that broke his fall. Franklin's arms spread out the moment he opened his mouth to scream, a silly attempt to slow his descent.  Beneath him, a monster with a green face and gargoyle wings lay in wait. _(He was going to die.)_  
  
Eyes pinched shut. He braced for impact, the pain -  
  
 _(He would get to see Daddy again.)_  
  
The hay in the loft was as scratchy and dusty as ever. He was still screaming by the time Uncle Peter had scrambled up the ladder, squeezed into the corner, and shook Franklin lightly until he opened his eyes. "What happened? Are you hurt? Frankie, say something..."  
  
But the boy could only stare. There were no monsters, just a mess of their bedding and straw he had landed on. _**"How...."**_  
  
 **XIII.**  
  
Curled under the down blanket at night. On a night where it was so cold that the troughs of water had started to freeze over once the sun went down, fingers comb through his messy hair. _"Hush little baby, don't say a word...."_ Something terrible was going to happen. The fear in his mind had chilled him to the bone far worse than whatever sickness made his skin break out in a cold sweat as he shiver.  
  
The singing faltered. Above him, his aunt and uncle exchanged and worried look before Auntie MJ continued. Her voice didn't shake as she leaned in and curled around him to share body heat. _"... Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird...."_ Suddenly Uncle Peter could no longer look either of them in the eye.  
  
 **XIV.**  
  
Celebration was far from his mind when his aunt pulled him into the farmer's long house and picked him up then set him down on the counter tops in the kitchen. Her fire colored hair was pulled back in a loose braid he had twisted for her this morning and, as usual, she told him a story as she puttered around. "This was always a favorite of Peter's, especially for this time of the year. If I ended up going over at the right time, Aunt May would show me how to make it just right and double the recipe so both of us could take some to school with us."  
  
A metal bowl and a wooden spoon were set beside him. She scanned the jars on the other side of the counter and took a pinch of each to determine what the white powder was. "What about Uncle Johnny?" he asked. He knew his two uncles had been friends since forever.  
  
"I never saw him around the house near Christmas."  
  
 **XV.**  
  
They got their Christmas miracle after all. Late at night, with the snow piled high enough for his family to make a snowman, fire streaked across the sky. At first, Franklin thought it was another raid so grabbed for his family's hands and tried to hold them together. Uncle Peter broke the grip too easily; unregistering of his own strength and the fact he had just bent the boy's finger backwards to do so. In a flash, the man was up and running towards the hill tops before the fire took the form of words in the sky.  
  
Uncle Peter didn't come back until early morning. When he did, he was not alone. A man with yellow hair, so unbrushed it looked worse than Uncle Peter's, stepped in shyly to the barn house with his eyes scanning the new surrounding hopelessly for someone. Franklin didn't recognize the strange man, but he recognized the woman he was carrying on his back. She had a hollow look in her eyes, thick black circles like she hadn't slept in years, and didn't seem to be entirely here with them. But Franklin knew her. He nearly fell out of the loft in excitement at how much he knew her. _**"Mommy!"**_  
  
Most notably, Uncle Ben and Auntie Alicia did not follow behind his uncles and mother.  
  
 **XVI.**  
  
The farmer saw the fire firing writing in the sky. He was convinced that Uncle Johnny was a mutant. He was ready to report them all when the adults, all at once, suddenly burst into a heated, disgusting rant about how all their troubles were the fault of that disgraceful race. Franklin was not old enough to realize they didn't mean it and they said that only to protect what was left of the family.  
  
 **XVII.**  
  
So much time has passed that Franklin think he might be eight, almost nine. Perhaps older. No one else realizes.  
  
 **XVIII.**  
  
They awoke to fire. Fire and ashes and the grinding sounds of metal moving. It was funny… he never imagined animals could scream until tonight. He doesn't need to ask why Uncle Johnny's body is burning bright in the air or why Mommy looked so strained, arms in the air like she was trying to keep the heavens from smashing down. Before Franklin could reach for his bag, like last time, something hot hit the back of his head, hard enough to push him down towards the ground. He couldn't be sure who caught him in their arms but as the world spun and brown blotches over took his vision, he could be sure of two things.  
  
Mommy was shouting for them to run but it would be Uncle Peter's voice that haunted his night terrors, for a child has a terribly perfect imagination. "No.... No, no, _no!_ "  
  
 **XIX.**  
  
Franklin refused to open his eyes when he woke up. He refused still the second day and even the third. He pretended to sleep on his stomach, face buried into his crossed arms. He is unsure if he sleeps at all at night. Mostly he breathes, mostly he listens to his aunt and uncle and the crickets in the country side. There was no need for him to whimper about nightmares to earn an arm wrapped around him from each of them.  
  
They had lived in a nightmare for quite some time.  
  
 **XX.**  
  
"Where's Mommy?"  
  
 **XXI.**  
  
Uncle Peter decided to go exploring to figure out where they were. For the strangest of reasons, Franklin knew this was a lie. He was looking for someone. Quietly, he crept behind his uncle as the hours of the day passed by. He tried not to flinch when Uncle Peter called out Uncle Johnny's name. But when they reached a spot that looked like a wildfire had taken over, where the trees would not grow for some time and the dirt beneath their feet was charred, Franklin almost fell to his knees. At the center of what might have been an apple orchard, a large crater stood, silently taunting his uncle who teetered on the edge. For some stupid reason, he inched closer.  
  
The ground was black and layers of dusty ash covered it. At the bottom, something was twisted up like a doll that been dropped from a high height. Something, not someone. Or, at least, that was what Franklin told himself from there on after.  
  
Uncle Peter did not speak again for a very long time. Worse than that, there was no sign that the Sentinel had even been destroyed.  
  
 **XXII.**  
  
There weren't enough lullabies and bed time stories in world to comfort him. Grandpa Nathan and his aunt got in another fight and he hadn't seen him since. "Aun'ie Mary Jane?" He was still in the childish habit of leaving off the 'T' as he spoke. "Do you hate me?"  
  
 **XXIII.**  
  
"I promise to come back."  
  
If there had ever been a bigger lie in the entire existence of everything in the world, Franklin could only think of one other thing. It was something he had whispered to him since he was a toddling child, unknowingly stepping into the world, ready to ruin the lives of his family.  
  
 _"Please don't go...."_  
  
He had walked on foot for too many days to keep track of them anymore. He cared not for the how or why any longer. He did not let himself remember, or think about what could have gotten him in this situation or what might have prevented him from learning what was really inside that worn knapsack Uncle Peter carried around. Mostly he listened. Mostly he just held on and breathed. But most importantly, he tried to pretend not to hear the hiccups in his aunt's breath as she sang.  
  
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...."  
  
So Franklin didn't know if he refused to accept that his body ached from behind tossed into a wall like a sack of potatoes, or if he had blocked out just what led up to that moment. He didn't know if those were burns or cuts dancing up and down his aunt's arms and back from when the ceiling fell. Most of all, he didn't know if he was imagining the cool, sticky, wet patch over her stomach of her shirt that was beginning to soak into his sweater - or if he should be putting pressure on her tummy.  
  
"...you make me happy, when skies are gray..."  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind existed a stuffed, huggable toy version of Spider-Man. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Spider-Man had always been his favorite hero, even if the webslinger hadn't made a public appearance in years. If only he had known sooner. He'd have so many questions to ask, he'd beg for answers and stories and he would know why his uncle could always lift the heaviest bundles at the farm.  
  
"He'll never know, dear, how much we loved him....."  
  
The abridged version did not go unnoticed. Past tense. Uncle Peter had been gone since sunrise. Franklin looked up when a wet tear dripped onto his face. He reached up to brush her hair back and tuck it behind her ear like he had seen Uncle Peter do countless time. He wiggled in her grip, not noticing the hiss of pain it earns when he leans up to kiss her forehead, like she would do when she pretended she could tuck him in every night they were allowed to rest. Cooper tasting liquid coated his lips and he pulled back, horrified that in the dim lighting, he couldn't make out where her hair started and ended and where the blood began to come from.  
  
In the end, they finish the song together but not before she breaks down into silent tears. "Please don't take my sunshine away."  
  
When his eyes blinked open the next evening, he tried to pretend the body wrapped around him hadn't grown cold.


End file.
